


Elevator Kisses

by UprightIguana



Category: The X-Files
Genre: BDSM, Humor, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-17
Updated: 2002-08-17
Packaged: 2018-11-20 14:24:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11337330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UprightIguana/pseuds/UprightIguana
Summary: Life with a Rat chained to your bed.





	Elevator Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Elevator Kisses

## Elevator Kisses

#### by Shan

Rating: NC-17.   
Category: Humorous little PWP  
Prequels: Elevator Music, followed by Otis, followed by Elevator Ride. Pairing: Skinner/Krycek.  
Warning: bdsm, spanking, serious kissing Disclaimer: Standard Fanfic Boilerplate: Don't own 'em. Don't make a penny, peso, drachma, ruble, yen, euro or pobblebead off 'em. And Otis Elevators don't look out for _me_. Spoilers: Garage Scene? What Garage Scene? Feedback: . Pretty please. Notes: Thanks to Xanthe for the original idea germ, and lots of related PWP bunnies. Thanks to Jose, the eagle-eyed beta of the North. 

**ELEVATOR KISSES**

chak...ra [chkr, chkr] (plural chak...ras) _noun_ center of spiritual power in body: in yoga, any one of the centers of spiritual power in the body. Each chakra is associated with a different god in Hinduism. \-- _Entry from Encarta World English Dictionary_

Let me explain about Walter Skinner's kisses. 

Being cuffed naked to his big sprawling bed gave me a lot of time to think about them. And the fact that, in spite of being the recipient of said kisses, I've never actually _seen_ him do it. 

Round one; the first fast explosive fuck of the night, taking the edge off the long wait of the workday. Drifting comfortably on the cusp of deep sleep, he curls around my tied body, head pillowed on my shoulder, arm around my waist, leg flung over my butt. At some small misty hour of the morning, I drift up from sleep to the soft touch of lips along my spine. 

The first time he did it, in the depths of the very first night, I almost squawked in surprise, both from the stunning sensation, and from the fact that Walter Skinner, bad-ass ex-Marine, impersonal, businesslike, by-the-book government bureaucrat, was dropping moist kisses and wet cat licks along my vertebrae. 

Easterners believed in centers of energy found along the spine; chakras are located at the top of the head, the neck, the small of the back, the pubis. The Anahata, the heart chakra, is found between the shoulder blades -- and that was my ultimate undoing. 

If I never believed in chakras before, I do now. Special Agent Monica Reyes would have been proud. 

He had leaned over me, his body pressing me down as he ran his lips, barely touching, on the sensitive skin between my shoulder blades. In the other places along my spine, there were small muted puffs of warm sensation, but there, on the peach fuzz, little jolts and spikes and shudders traveled across my shoulders, down and up my spine into the base of my skull with each touch of his lips. The kisses, soft and wet, were followed by cat licks, and those were followed by rippling shudders as he blew softly on the wet skin. And then his lips, barely brushing over the fuzz, sending new sensations fluttering over the old ones. Eventually, I could feel those feather-light kisses through to my nipples, behind my knees, pooling in my groin. In the palms of _both_ hands. 

Where the hell had he learned to kiss like that? If I had to point to the one thing that kept me there, it was his kisses. 

OK, that, and the standard-issue law enforcement stainless-steel handcuffs. 

But that deep secret part of me began to live for those impossible kisses, made all the more mysteriously sensuous because I was turned away, unable to control or even see them. And his large rough hands sliding up along my flanks, my shoulders and neck, fingers carding through my hair and messaging my scalp as his lips fastened to the nape of my neck, sharp nibbles between soft kisses. Inevitably, I would drop my head into the pillow, acquiescing, all but begging, for more of Walter's improbable tenderness. 

Now, if I could just figure out why he kept dragging me into the elevator for sex... 

* * *

Top of the morning to you, Otis. 

*It sounds like you're well on the way to a good day, Assistant Director.* 

Yes. I have hitherto underestimated the therapeutic value of a lot of sweaty sex followed by long hot showers. 

_I must say your guest has been terrific for your disposition._

It's better than ten rounds in the ring. 

_So Alex will be extending his stay?_

I'm not planning to give him much of a choice ... yet. 

_He might surprise you, Assistant Director._

You think so? 

*He's only human.* 

* * *

I'm a big believer in routine. Even the most unusual situations fall into some sort of schedule. Once I had accepted the extreme Twilight Zone curve ball pitched at me, even Alex and Otis inevitably fell into their own inimitable patterns. After a while, firmly in control of the new evolving habits, I mused with some irony that my life had become even weirder than Mulder's, and that I hadn't become too old and staid not to enjoy the ride. 

There was a great deal of satisfaction, not to mention side benefits, of suddenly being able to converse with Otis. I was beginning to have a hard time remembering that he was a non-human entity; discussing the latest offensive coaching deficiencies of the Washington Redskins was a non-starter. Ditto Alex, but that was because the only thing I knew about soccer was that the women's US national team was better than the men's. But under my hands, the body that so fetchingly warmed my bed was at once tense and pliable, expectant and responsive. It was a particularly pleasurable experience learning his soft spots, his vulnerable areas, discovering how to drive him insane with sexual need, and seeing how long I could keep him there, hovering on the brink. And despite his obvious bemusement, he never questioned why I would occasionally drag him, cuffed and naked, into the elevator for spanking and sex in the middle of the night. He must have felt that unmistakable feeling of being closely scrutinized; it seemed to heighten his pleasure, when I finally allowed him release. After the first night, I never hit him with anything other than my hand, and even though his pleas were enticingly earnest, his protests were never about stopping. 

But the true conquest came in the kisses. For someone whose ultimate weapon was words couched in half-truths, Alex was stunned into silence the first time I ever kissed him, torturing him with feather-light licks down his backbone. Wet kisses that I started at the base of his spine, just over the crack of his buttocks, traveling slowly upwards while my hands stroked him. I could tell whenever I'd passed over a chakra - his body tensed and shuddered, his complete acquiescence a little closer at hand, passing more control over to me despite his best efforts at resistance. But once I reached that spot between his shoulder blades, moving slowly up to the nape of his neck and back down again, my hands messaging his shoulders, his truncated arm - the ever-mysterious and always-dangerous Alex Krycek was just so much quivering putty in my hands. 

A week into his extended visit, when I had reduced him to just that jellified state, I slid up along his back, directing my cock between his cheeks, sinking into him in that delicious hot slide that threatened my own brain with extreme sex-stupidity. He groaned and arched his back a little, bringing his ear against my lips for me to play with. 

Trying hard for suave self-assurance, I whispered, "Don't need a little black box for control, Alex" I slipped my hands around to his chest, playing and pinching his helpless nipples, savoring his heart-felt groan. I was inordinately pleased with myself when I said, "Welcome to the wonderful world of high-technology." 

And sliding my hand down, I grasped his aching cock, pulled back to hardness for the third time that night, jacking him slowly in time with my own thrusts, picking up speed as I nuzzled his neck, cat-kissing down his backbone to his spinal Achilles heel, that spot between his shoulder blades. It took some considerable concentration to thrust into his hot tightness, _and_ stroke his cock _and_ kiss him _right there_ , but I was rewarded by a tightening of his balls, a tell-tale fluttering in his lower belly, and a strangled, sweetly satisfying "*Walter-!*" 

He stiffened, and his ass muscles clamped tightly onto my cock, taking with him the rest of the miniscule control left to my own sex-addled mind. I know I said something when I came, before burying my face in his neck. 

I think it was his name. 

* * *

He must be starting to wonder about all the sex in this elevator. 

_He has been, sir._

He hasn't said anything. 

_He has an abnormally high level of acceptance of the unusual. Although he still checks for hidden cameras and microphones._

It's the world he knows best. 

_Quite so, sir..._

_Assistant Director? Would you explain to me about kisses?_

Kisses? What about them? 

_Why do humans kiss?_

Expression of feeling. Of affection. The need for connection. Manifestation of chemistry. Why do you ask? 

_You kiss Alex a lot._

It's also a method of control. 

_And therefore, revenge?_

Of a sort, yes. 

_It must be working, sir._

Why do you say that, Otis? 

_The expression on his face when you kiss him._

I don't see that. 

_You might want to try turning him around and facing him, sir._

* * *

Domesticity, Walter Skinner style, was a weird and wonderful thing. The dinners were delicious, "take out" from the best restaurants in the D.C. area. The interested inquiries about his workday that turned into actual conversations, the saccharin Ozzie-and-Harriet home-for-dinner routine would have been horrifyingly normal if not for the weird little twists, like the wrist and ankle cuffs, the clanking chains, and me naked all the time. Matched place settings and cutlery, perfectly reflected in the polished mahogany dining table as Walter Skinner sat across from me, deliciously shirtless. What was more ludicrous was that I started to look forward to his coming home every night. 

I'd even started to listen for that distant, muted ding of the elevator signal down the hallway, as the day filtered towards dusk. 

Just sitting across from him, watching the play of muscles along his arms, the way the hair on his chest reflected glints of lights, and the fleeting glimpses of that tight little half-smile that meant that Walter was vastly amused by something. And later, all of that sexy beast would be much nearer - the heat radiating off his body as he closed in on me, rough hands on my torso, muscular thighs forcing mine apart, the hidden promise in the strength of his arms against any token resistance I cared to put up. And finally, the dizzying touch of his lips, the final reward, sparingly bestowed, as I lay mute, hours later, trembling with unfulfilled desire. 

Just. Kill me now. 

And then that night, when I was as close to being shattered as I'd ever been, practically begging him for release, I felt a sensation so foreign that it took a long moment to figure out what it was. It accompanied a metallic click and slide, the clatter of chains hitting the carpet, and I lay there dumbfounded as he pulled my freed wrist down, massaging feeling back into my fingers. Firm hands closed around my shoulders as he rolled me unresistingly over onto my back. He held my cuffless wrist down as he nudged my thighs open, settling between them, his cock turgid and hot as it grazed gently against mine, sending spikes of sensation through my groin. 

I stared at him as if I'd never seen him before in my life. 

He chuckled and leaned up over me, his weight on my one hand effectively pinning me. His cock bumped up against mine, and I could have wept. Still smiling that devilish smile, he dipped his head and hot wet lips closed around my right nipple, nibbling, licking and sucking. I arched up automatically, offering more to him, as his snigger vibrated against my sensitive skin. When my right nipple was rock-hard, he moved casually over to the left, the head of his cock sliding down over my balls and nudging against my asshole. Unconsciously, my legs parted more for him, and he righted himself on his knees, sliding his hands under my thighs and hooking them over his elbows. 

It was overwhelming, being able now to see his face, his eyes without the armor of his glasses. Seeing the naked shift from humor to concentration, as he seated his cockhead against my anus. And then that concentration shifted to a kind of agonized pleasure as he tightened his grip on me and thrust forward. The hot stretching slide punched directly across my prostate, and I arched and howled, as he drew back a little and plunged forward again, sending stars bursting behind my eyelids and heat billowing from my groin that traversed my entire body. 

I reached blindly for him with my one hand when he began to heavy rhythmic pounding, hanging onto his forearm for dear life. Each inward thrust brought the tantalizing climax closer, accompanied by harsh guttural cries torn from my throat, and deep bass grunts from Walter. His arms were trembling violently, and suddenly, he was on top of me, his hard muscular body bucking tightly against mine as his hand turned my face aside so that his lips could find the sensitive skin of my throat. His other hand slid around my back, the pads of his hard fingers digging into that chakra between my shoulder blades at the moment his teeth sank into my throat, and all sense and reason disappeared in a white hot brain-liquefying explosion of blinding orgasm. 

And for a while, I was nothing but jellified ectoplasm. 

Sometime had passed when I woke up; I could tell, because there was a limp heavy bear-rug on top of me. A limp, gently-snoring, bear rug. I tried to move once, but the bear muttered throatily and shifted, nuzzling my neck and kissing my left shoulder and down the truncated arm. He settled against my cheek, his hand stroking my chest absently. 

"'M not done with you yet, Alex," he muttered, tightening his grip on me. 

I could live with that. 

It was in the misty purpling small hours of the morning, that I woke once more to kisses. On my nipples, along my neck, my ear. Face to face sex with Walter was more devastatingly incredible that I ever imagined. And his electrifying soul-wrenching kisses... 

It was probably just as well he never once kissed me on the mouth. 

He had worked me over so well that night that by the time I woke up, mid-morning light was streaming in through the curtains. The deeply pleasant ache in my limbs and ass were a warm pooling reminder of last night. Walter Skinner was a surprising man. 

Imagine my further astonishment when I found that I was no longer chained to the bed. Cuffs and restraints nowhere in sight. 

I guess the vacation's over. 

* * *

_Why did you let him go, Assistant Director?_

It was time. 

_Did he not please you any more?_

No, that wasn't it at all. Quite the opposite. 

_You both seemed to be enjoying yourselves._

Can't argue with that. 

_Then why stop?_

Nothing is forever, Otis. You just can't cage another human indefinitely. 

_A pity. He was most entertaining._

That he was. 

* * *

Friday evening, and I found myself standing on my balcony, a Glenfidditch single-malt in hand, watching the deepening evening skies over the glowing cityscape, nothing on but a pair of chinos. The crisp fall air against bare skin was in pleasant in contrast to the throaty burn of the scotch on its way into my stomach. My bed had been empty for a week now, and my few sources of underground information did not pick up the slightest hint of Alex surfacing. Perhaps staying under the radar suited him at the moment. My new routine, so much like my old one, had reinstated itself, and the evenings seemed as empty as the bed I slept in alone. 

As pleasant as it had been keeping him chained to my bed, it was ultimately abhorrent to me to keep him prisoner indefinitely. 

Yes, even _him._

But the palm pilot was safely in several pieces in a secured lab, its software being quartered and scrutinized on several different hard-drives. I wanted to control the nanocytes, not get rid of them: I wasn't willing to give up Otis now. As for Alex, I figured I'd exacted my revenge from him. Moans torn from his throat, eyes liquid green and huge with need looking up at me, as near to begging as this man was ever going to be, his body pliant and open and so achingly delectable - _that_ was what was waiting for me every night for weeks. 

I shook my head at the memory and threw back the remains of the fine aged scotch, relishing the burn -- 

_Assistant Director._

It had become primal instinct to respond immediately to Otis' summons. I was already heading for the door, shoes and shirt be damned, heart pounding. 

*He's entering the lobby, sir.* 

Good. Don't lose him. 

_Shall I keep him there?_

Yes. I'm going down. 

* * *

Alex Krycek was not terribly surprised when the elevator doors opened before he even touched a button, and found Walter Skinner standing there, leaning casually against the back rail, provacatively shirtless, his arms folded across his broad naked chest, that tight little smile on his face. Somehow, he was almost expecting it, even as he stepped boldly through the front doors that closed and locked behind him. 

Walter Skinner was not at all surprised to see Alex Krycek standing framed against the designer-decorated lobby interior. Or that Alex wore a simple dark green silk-knit crew-necked sweater, instead of his customary bad-boy black leather jacket. Or, apart from raising his eyebrows a little at Walter's shirtless shoeless state, he didn't seem otherwise surprised at seeing him already in the elevator. His eyes flickered briefly around the ceiling and walls of the elevator as the doors immediately slid closed, as if checking for something, and then apparently gave up the inspection. Walter was taken aback, however, to see the left sleeve buttoned up neatly, not hiding the obvious fact of the missing arm. 

When he looked into Alex's eyes, he saw an unusual openness - and this somehow did not surprise him, either. 

Skinner tried for AD kick-ass mode. "Back for more, Krycek?" 

"Depends." 

Skinner raised his eyebrow. 

"First things first, Walter." 

He was surprised this time - nay, _stunned_ \- when Alex stepped forward, reaching with his one hand to cup Walter's face gently, pressing in so that he had no place to run. Automatically, his arms dropped aside to let Alex push him against the wall, and the younger man homed in until their lips touched, lightly at first, and the pressure and demand increased as Walter softened and acquiesced and let him in. He didn't try to push him away or control the kiss, allowing him to probe and plunder with his tongue, tasting his mouth for the first time, as he felt Alex's hand slide down his naked chest and slip around his waist to caress the small of his back. 

Wet warmth pooled suddenly in his groin, as his body remembered the touch and taste and scent of Alex, and now, his enthralling consuming kisses. 

He pulled away for a moment, staring down at the beautiful face, green eyes half-closed, his mouth relaxed, lips swollen and reddened, waiting for more. 

_Is that it, Otis? Is that the expression when I kiss him?_

*Yes, sir. That's what you've been missing.* 

For reasons unknown to all present, Alex said aloud, "Shut up and kiss me, Walter." 

Skinner obliged. 

**THE END**

* * *

You can kiss me in the moonlight  
On the rooftop under the sky,   
You can kiss me with the windows open  
While the rain comes pouring inside,   
Kiss me in sweet slow motion  
Let's let everything slide.  
You got me floating.  
You got me flying. 

It's the way you love me  
It's a feeling like this  
It's centrifugal motion  
It's perpetual bliss  
It's that pivotal moment  
It's - ahh - subliminal  
This kiss, this kiss  
It's criminal  
This kiss, this kiss 

_This Kiss_ \- Faith Hill 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Shan 


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